


Muse

by cinereous



Category: Persona 5
Genre: M/M, Object Fellatio, Object Frottage, Object Insertion, PWP, Post-Canon, Voyeurism, Yusuke's Birthday Week 2021
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-13 14:35:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29030280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinereous/pseuds/cinereous
Summary: Akira had always known that he was the second love of Yusuke’s life. Some days he was fortunate enough to see Yusuke unwind with what truly ignited his passion.Yusuke's Birthday Week day 6: Muse
Relationships: Kitagawa Yusuke/Art, Kitagawa Yusuke/Kurusu Akira
Comments: 6
Kudos: 27
Collections: Yusuke's Birthday





	Muse

**Author's Note:**

  * For [foxjar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxjar/gifts).



> This was originally inspired by prompts thought up by the wonderful Foxjar! Here is hoping it does the fantastic idea justice. This piece was beta read by habenaria_radiata.

Yusuke had no shame.

In a good way.

Akira had fallen in love with his boldness and the easy, earnest way he spoke. Yusuke never beat around the bush or searched for the tactful way of putting something. Every word and action from him was entirely and beautifully genuine.

For someone like Akira, who had been dealt an awful hand in life, betrayed and lied to and verbally beaten down, the pure honesty and pride that Yusuke exuded was like a breath of fresh air when he’d been suffocating.

Even Akira could not claim to be as unabashed and fully himself as Yusuke. There was no one in the Phantom Thieves who could rival that sense of truth and self like his lover did. It was heady and sexy and had drawn him in as sure as a moth to the flame.

It was heartening that Yusuke continued to steal his heart with his shamelessness to this day. 

Sojiro had transferred Leblanc into Akira’s name shortly after he graduated his secondary education, and it had taken them no time at all to convert the attic he had lived in into an art studio for Yusuke. Downstairs, Akira cooked curry and brewed coffee, charming every guest that came in with his quiet charisma, and upstairs, Yusuke painted his days away.

On slow days Akira had gotten into the habit of checking in on him. It felt good to interrupt his painting with fresh cups of coffee or snacks and kisses to the back of his strained neck. Some days it was soft like that.

Others, Akira enjoyed the one shameful secret Yusuke had.

It would seem today was one of those days. 

He had snuck up the stairs as silently as possible after the cafe had stayed empty and silent for almost two hours. He found himself there at the crest of it, leaning against the railing and staring into the semi-darkness of the attic towards Yusuke.

Torrential rain kept the lighting low and murky, framing the silhouette of his lover in bold shadow. He was on the floor on his knees, angled slightly away from him and unaware of his presence. He was shirtless and pale, all beautiful lines and long arms, deceptively powerful shoulders shifting and pulling to cast new shadows. Dust mots glittered like diamonds in the air around him like a halo and his hair burned brighter than any sapphire in the dim.

Between his spread legs was a canvas lying on the floorboards. It was hard to make out from where he stood watching, but the shape of it was familiar enough he could pick it out of Yusuke’s collection with ease.

It was a very long and thin painting that depicted Akira half-naked and posed in sleep. It was a candid moment done in sultry blues, and he had looked at it so many times now that Akira was positive he could trace the shapes and describe the perfect fan of his lashes by memory.

This was the painting that Yusuke had nestled between his knees, and Akira watched as the man leaned down and pressed his lips against it in a slow, reverent kiss. Even from here, highlighted by the watery sunlight behind him, he could just see the way his damp lips seemed to cling and stick to the textured surface of the canvas as his hair fell like a soft waterfall around his face. There was nothing more beautiful on Earth than Yusuke, Akira was sure.

Yusuke lifted himself up, one strong looking, long fingered hand running through his hair to push it from his eyes while the other slid down his chest slowly and sensually. Akira could practically feel that touch on himself. He could just imagine the feathery lightness of it, the faint tickle at the ribs, the heavier, hotter press at the navel. He moved so erotically when he was alone and believed he was unseen.

The sound of a zipper caressed the air, and Akira swallowed around the lump in his throat as he watched the man he loved push at his pants until they bunched a little lower around his thighs, baring himself to the attic.

Even in this lighting, he could see the proud shadow of his cock. Yusuke was already aroused and it took great self control not to rush over and greedily wrap his hands around him like he might normally. But that would mean ending the spell, ending Yusuke’s secret moment.

The truth was that Akira had always known that he was the _second_ love of Yusuke’s life. 

As he watched Yusuke sigh and lower his body, angling it just right to drag himself against the painting below him...it was easy to see that art would always be the thing that ignited Yusuke’s passion. There was no way that Akira could size up to the manic devotion and neverending affection that his lover held for art. The creation of it, the study of it, the enjoyment of it, the need for it.

That was what Akira understood that no one else did. Yusuke needed art like he needed breath and water and food. He saw the world in brush strokes and every human emotion and sensation bloomed as color in Yusuke’s heart. 

Mementos and thieving and magic were gone from their lives forever. They were all bereft and aching with the normalcy that had burrowed into their bones and called the hollow there home. Akira knew that art sustained Yusuke. And in private moments like these....it excited him.

He settled in a little more comfortably to watch Yusuke’s dirty secret unfold. It was not the first time he had caught him like this. Akira bit his lip, letting his nails dig a bit into the wood beneath his fingers in an effort to calm himself.

Yusuke was none the wiser. He slowly rocked his hips, dragging himself against the painting, and Akira couldn’t help but wonder what it felt like. Did he feel every raised area of paint? The texture of the canvas? This close to it, could he smell the scent of paint and thinner? 

He knew that there were thick, textured layers of paint among the sheets that bunched around his art-self’s hips. And sure enough, Akira watched as Yusuke angled his hips just right to drag his cock against those raised shapes with a stuttered breath seeming to catch in his throat. 

The man was murmuring something under his breath, one of his arms stretching out. Akira watched with barely concealed intrigue before Yusuke lifted up to a sit again, dragging his fingers down his chest, but this time streaks of color followed his fingers. Yusuke beautifully smeared shades of blue down the perfect canvas of his body. 

Akira could see every hitched breath in his chest and every shiver from the cold of the paint. He was a masterpiece, made all the more beautiful by his own absolute love for the act. His fingers swirled and dipped, filling the small, fetching valleys of his muscles when Akira finally heard him.

“I am yours.”

Of course. Akira’s stomach burned with desire to hear him pledge such loyalty and devotion to what he cared for most in the world. It only reinforced his feelings that this was something more intimate than what he and Yusuke shared in their bed. This was an acolyte to their deity, a human blindly and innocently giving themselves mind, body, and soul to something bigger than themselves.

Yusuke was trembling now, and Akira watched him reach out again, this time running his fingers along his impressive array of paintbrushes. Akira had gotten a case made for him after he’d done a full inventory, and he felt proud and thrilled to see the way Yusuke’s perfect fingers trailed along each wooden handle with the shaking delight of a schoolboy before his first kiss.

They were all so different. Some pale wood, others dark. Some were black or white and there were even a few odd decorative ones sporting glitter or patterns. Yusuke plucked one with decisiveness, and Akira watched with besotted glee as he dragged the paintbrush along his own cheek to feel the soft bristles against his skin.

It was a larger flat brush, and Akira could just imagine how it would feel. It looked silky and decadent, especially so against Yusuke’s lips where he dragged it next. Fuck. Akira licked his own lips and pressed his hips forward enough that the stair railing dug into his hidden erection, staving off some of the pressure there. This was almost too much to bear.

He wanted to go to Yusuke, let him drag that brush against his own skin until he begged. He wanted to straddle that painting just like Yusuke was and let his cock be pressed and dragged against the surface of it while his lover made him see stars.

But he knew that despite all of his small, needy wants, the last thing he ever wanted to do was take this moment of connection away from the man he cared for most. This was an act of giving, not taking, and Akira could see that plain as day.

“I am yours,” he heard Yusuke repeat, and he sucked in a startled breath to see the man press the thick handle of the brush between his lips. It was unbearably sexy, sending vines of flame straight down between his legs. Yusuke moaned against the soft wood, still rolling his hips in a needy fashion against the painting to the point Akira could just make out the shine of rainy day sunlight glinting off the precum pooling there against the canvas.

He was sure he had never wanted Yusuke as badly as he did right at this moment.

Yusuke slipped the brush free of his mouth with a ragged sounding inhale, something almost feral and deep coloring his voice in a way that reminded Akira of how he sometimes sounded when he was Fox and fighting. He was in this trance of absolute love and worship to the point of losing his self-control. It was mesmerizing.

The comparison still did little to prepare him for Yusuke pressing his cheek against the painting on the floor and reaching backwards. Akira watched with his mind buzzing and snapping with aggressive nothingness as Yusuke used one hand to spread himself before delicately probing at his opening with the still glistening paint brush handle.

That first bump of polished wood on skin made Yusuke jump and gasp loudly, a huge shiver racing through his entire body. He was so keyed up and excited that he was trembling, and Akira licked his lips and watched the man realign and ease the tapered tip inside of his body.

A moan so deep and unbridled that it rattled through his ribs left Yusuke, and Akira had the briefest of worries that a customer may be downstairs in his absence and could have heard that sound of pure, unfiltered lust. Yet, he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

Yusuke drove the brush a little deeper and rubbed his face like a kitten against the painting beneath his cheek, kissing at the flat surface and letting his hot breath spill across it. Through everything he had yet to touch himself, and Akira admired that fortitude when he already had his own hand pressed tight against the front of his jeans helplessly.

It was not hard to imagine that Yusuke viewed his body as a vessel for art, weak and needy and existing only to put paint down. Even now, Akira truly believed that this act was a desperate attempt on Yusuke’s part to give every last piece of himself and beg for inspiration, not with words, but with his body for inspiration.

There was nothing more vulnerable and more beautiful than that in Akira’s eyes. He couldn’t take this anymore. Just watching the way Yusuke squirmed and undulated against the painting, fucking himself with uncoordinated movements and kissing his painted face again and again while sweat began to gleam on his skin...Akira was only human.

He pushed himself away from the railing and walked over slowly and quietly despite the painful sensation of his arousal pressing against his fly. Akira took his time and treated Yusuke very much like a skittish wild deer liable to bolt at any moment.

When he was close enough, Akira kneeled down and reached forward, gently wrapping his fingers around Yusuke’s on the brush handle and smirking brilliantly as the man spasmed with panicked surprise.

“Shh, it’s just me,” he whispered, voice full of gravel and a slick, teeth bearing chuckle. “Let me help you.”

Dark eyes glanced at him over a bony shoulder, and Akira could see the faintest flicker of shame there. It was alien and not quite right, and he could feel the tremor of fearful lust as it shook down Yusuke’s spine.

“Akira…?”

He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he sweetly shoved at Yusuke’s fingers until they fell away from the handle, leaving only his own wrapped around it. It was warm to the touch, and he took great pleasure in slowly pulling it backwards, watching inch after inch blossom under his gaze while Yusuke’s body clung and grasped around it. 

Just before he pulled it free entirely, Akira gleefully pushed forward again, allowing it to plunge deep and fast inside of him and causing Yusuke to cry out and practically pitch himself against the canvas between his knees.

“Pretend I’m not here,” Akira advised, his eyes molten and heavy as he keeps fucking Yusuke long, well aimed strokes from his better vantage point. 

If he expected Yusuke to argue to show confusion, he was pleasantly surprised when he did neither. Yusuke simply nodded and dropped his head back down, rubbing his forehead against the textures there and kissing the canvas depiction of his sleeping fact again and again.

Nails with paint underneath them dug into the dusty cracks of the floorboards, and Yusuke’s hips began to grind down into the canvas beneath him hard enough Akira was genuinely afraid the friction and force would hurt him.

He couldn’t stop though. He felt like a man possessed, reaching over at a terrible angle to slap his hand against the still wet paint on Yusuke’s palette. He raked his freshly paint covered fingers down his lover’s back like a wild animal, clawing gorgeous lines of blood red and blue down his spine while he keep fucking him.

“You’re a masterpiece creating masterpieces, Yusuke.”

The words spilled out of him like gospel, dripping down into waiting ears. He hoped that Yusuke understood. He hoped that Yusuke knew he didn’t mind being second, not when it meant seeing him like this.

“Show me. _Paint me a picture_ , Yusuke,” he begged, not at all sure what he was even saying anymore except that he was panting it directly into Yusuke’s sweat damp hand and jamming the brush at just the right angle to hopefully drag heavily against his prostate if not sit right on top of it.

Yusuke screamed.

Beneath him he could feel the build and swell of his body as it convulsed up from the floor in primal, delightful angles. Every inch of him quaked and shuddered, painting pleasure into his own body and the floor through vibration and moans alone.

The skin of his now exposed neck burned pink in the dim lighting, and a droplet of sweat slithered down the pretty, sharp point of his spine. His body heat was palpable as steam. Akira slowly eased up to a kneel, swallowing back his own shaky breaths as he eased the paintbrush free of his body with one smooth stroke.

Yusuke keened before him all the same, his hands curled into delicate fists against the floor and his body collapsed and crumpled like thrown away sketch paper. He had never seen him quite this done in before, and he couldn’t resist leaning down to kiss his cheek with soft affection.

It was flushed pink with something other than exertion when he pulled back. Dark eyes fluttered open, and Akira was strangely delighted to see something like embarrassment blooming there against the dark grey.

Yusuke had no shame. In a good way.

And Akira had no intention to let him start feeling it now.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt. You’re just very hard to look away from. I hope you’re not mad.”

The blue haired man blinked, easing himself up on unsteady arms to reveal the obvious mess on the painting, but also his unsure frown and the little crease between his brows.

“This doesn’t...bother you?”

Akira chuckled and leaned in to smack a kiss against that endearing little furrow with excited gusto.

“Not at all. I always thought a threesome would be fun.”


End file.
